


somehow everything's gonna fall right into place

by lecornergirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecornergirl/pseuds/lecornergirl
Summary: It should be an earth-shattering realisation, but mostly it just feels like the world is falling into place. Like it’s just another thing he knows about himself: Bellamy Blake is sixteen, a Hufflepuff, and in love with Clarke Griffin.





	somehow everything's gonna fall right into place

**Author's Note:**

> title from paramore - hallelujah

Clarke’s always known who Bellamy is, in the same way that she knows who everyone else in her year but not in her house is. Slightly more than that, maybe; they talk in the classes they share, both vying to be top of the class, and in the past year especially they disagree a lot, about theoretical transfiguration and the practicality of potions. But she wouldn’t say Bellamy’s a friend, not for her first four years at Hogwarts.

 

Things start to change in their fifth year, when she heads to the prefect meeting on the train and finds him there, pinning his badge to his Hufflepuff robes. She meets his eyes, and he smiles at her, but that’s as far as they get before Indra, the head girl, starts the meeting. She tries to stick around to talk to him after the meeting, hoping for an ally in the petty politics she knows surround the prefects and head students, but he’s already being ushered on patrol by Gina, the other new Hufflepuff prefect. He flashes another smile, though, like they’re on the same page.

And are they ever. Clarke doesn’t know what prefect meetings were like before she and Bellamy showed up, but from the older prefects’ reactions it’s clear they’re shaking things up, just by having questions. After a meeting where Bellamy brings up the question of students being segregated by houses at mealtimes and Clarke loudly protests Indra’s explanation of “well, that’s how it’s always been done,” he corners her in the hallway.

“Hey, uh, thanks for sticking up for me in there,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I mean, I wasn’t saying anything I don’t agree with,” Clarke retorts. “ _We’ve always done it this way_ is the single dumbest explanation for anything. Blood purity was just how it’s always been done for, fuck, centuries? And we all saw how that turned out.”

“I’m just saying, some of your Slytherin pals didn’t look too happy with you taking my side.”

“Any Slytherin who still looks down on other houses can suck a dick, for all I care,” Clarke says, staring him dead in the eye. “We fought literal wars over this, they can get with the times or get out.”

Bellamy smiles. “You know you’re preaching to the choir, right?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Clarke laughs. “I just—grew up in a long line of Slytherins, you know? And none of them were, like, actively evil, but let’s just say the status quo worked for them so they didn’t exactly try to rock the boat.”

“I get it,” Bellamy says. “Well, not literally, because I grew up poor and muggleborn, but I get feeling like you need to do something.”

“And if doing something includes dicking over people who still manage to be close-minded bigots in the year of our lord twenty-eighteen, even better,” she says, and Bellamy laughs.

“Exactly. Want to upset some bigots and have dinner at the Hufflepuff table?”

There’s a gleam in Clarke’s eyes as she says, “I’d love to,” and later, looking back, he’ll be able to pinpoint that as the moment he started falling for her.

 

Their friendship is easy after that, bonding over impossible O.W.L. classes, despairing over homework essays, pushing for house unity in prefect meetings and doing their best to exemplify it everywhere else. By the time they come back for their sixth year, house tables are enforced only at feasts, and it’s become more commonplace to see students hanging out in mixed-house groups, even the younger ones who haven’t been mixed into N.E.W.T. classes yet and only have lessons in their house groups.

Bellamy and Clarke move on to pushing for structural change, and Roan and Echo, the new head students, quickly grow tired of telling them that this isn’t in their control. Finally, a week before Halloween, Echo snaps. “Look, we can’t do anything about that, so why don’t you try something smaller? Throw a party or something, I don’t know, just stop wasting meeting time with things we have no control over.”

She means it as a throwaway comment, clearly, but Bellamy and Clarke grab onto the idea and refuse to let go. By the next afternoon, they’re sitting in McGonagall’s office, presenting the Headmistress with their pitch for a House Unity Ball, to be held the weekend before students go home for Christmas.

McGonagall isn’t convinced the ball will affect inter-house unity in any way, but she can’t seem to come up with a good counterargument either, and just like that Bellamy and Clarke are responsible for putting together a ball in two months—while also remaining on top of their studies, something McGonagall was very clear on.

 

By the time the ball rolls around, both Bellamy and Clarke have wished countless times that they’d never undertaken the project, but none of those times matter when they’re standing in the Great Hall, watching their fellow students dancing, drinking (pumpkin juice), and being merry, with no signs of house separation in sight.

Standing behind Clarke, Bellamy rests his chin on the top of her head. “We did good,” he says softly.

“We did,” she laughs. “Time to celebrate. Dance with me?”

“I’m so tired, though,” Bellamy grumbles, but she laughs again and pulls him onto the dance floor, knowing without needing to look back that he’d follow even if she wasn’t holding him by the elbow.

Half an hour later, word starts circulating that some of the Gryffindor seventh-years are throwing an after-party in the Room of Requirement for sixth-years and above. Bellamy makes a show about being too tired, but Clarke manages to convince him, although it isn’t too hard once they hear the Gryffindors have managed to score some firewhisky.

“I’ve never seen you drunk,” Clarke muses as they slink up to the seventh-floor corridor, darting behind the occasional curtain to avoid the more curious ghosts.

“Don’t get too excited,” he warns her. “I’m serious about being tired, I don’t want to get too wasted. Just a couple of drinks, okay?”

She agrees, but there’s something in her voice that he doesn’t fully trust.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter. It’s been a while since either of them had a drink, and two drinks in they’re sitting in a corner, Clarke’s hands flailing as she tries to explain the intricacies of some famous Quidditch game she’d been to when she was eleven. Bellamy, who’s never been big on Quidditch, nods along, but he’s more focused on Clarke than on what she’s saying.

It’s been a little over a year since that first prefect meeting they really bonded at, but it’s only now, sitting in a corner of the Room of Requirement, listening to a tipsy Clarke talk about Quidditch, that he realises it’s also a little over a year that he’s been in love with her.

It should be an earth-shattering realisation, but mostly it just feels like the world is falling into place. Like it’s just another thing he knows about himself: Bellamy Blake is sixteen, a Hufflepuff, and in love with Clarke Griffin.

He isn’t planning on doing anything with the information, at least not until he’s had a good night’s sleep and figured out a better plan than just blurting it out to Clarke.

Clarke, however, has other plans, like she so often does.

“Bellamy? Hey, you okay there?” she’s saying, waving her hand in front of his face, and he realises he’s zoned out.

“Yeah, uh, I’m good,” he manages to get out, shaking his head a little in an attempt to focus. “What’s up?”

Instead of answering, she kisses him.

Well. That’s one way he did not see this going.

She sways a little against him, and he remembers they’ve both been drinking. Not much, by any definition, but enough that he wants to delay this conversation, postpone it to when they’re both sober.

He tries to pull away, but she threads a hand through his hair, holding him closer. _Fuck._ It would be so easy, to just stay in this moment—

Someone clears their throat next to them, and Bellamy snaps back to reality, putting his hands on Clarke’s shoulders. “Clarke.”

She looks up, and he sees vulnerability in her eyes. “Clarke, listen, we’ve been drinking, and—”

Something in her expression closes off, and before he can finish his sentence, before he can tell her this is a step he wants to take fully sober, with no danger of any kind of chemical influence, she bolts, slipping through the crowd faster than he can follow.

By the time he makes it to the door, it’s slamming shut in his face, and he’s known Clarke long enough to know that she won’t be found unless she wants to be.

 

He’s waiting by the entrance to the Slytherin common room the next morning, knowing she’ll have to come out for breakfast at some point. _So much for a good night’s sleep and a better plan,_ he thinks, and then Clarke emerges, and he stops thinking at all.

Her expression hardens when she sees him. “Why are you here? I think you made yourself perfectly clear last night.”

“I don’t think I did, though.” He takes a step towards her. “What do you think I made clear?”

Clarke sounds a tiny bit less sure when she says, “well, you stopped me from kissing you, so I—”

“So you ran away before I could finish my sentence,” he fills in for her. She still hasn’t backed away, and he’s close enough now that he could reach out and touch her.

“You said we’d been drinking, when people say that they usually mean the drinking is making them do things they shouldn’t be doing.”

“Yeah, well, I was going to say, we’ve been drinking, and I don’t want to do this unless you’re sure.”

Clarke stops for a second, then looks up, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing.

“Do what?” she asks, and she’s grinning now. “You know, just to make sure we’re on the same page here…”

Bellamy’s the one to kiss her, this time, and neither of them is in a hurry to pull away.

“I don’t know how it took me this long to catch up,” he tells her when they finally pull apart, “but I’ve been in love with you for the better part of a year, at least.”

“Good, me too,” she laughs. “Except I was aware of it, but yeah.”

“Well, we can’t all be winners,” he says, but when she reaches up to kiss him again he definitely feels like a winner.


End file.
